


House of Wax

by st_aurafina



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Crack, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-15
Updated: 2011-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-21 10:04:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_aurafina/pseuds/st_aurafina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan, Scott, a cigar, and chest waxing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	House of Wax

This wasn't how a fight was meant to go. Scott laid into Sabretooth with a piece of pipe, trying to get him off the fallen Logan. Sabretooth paid little attention, so Scott looped the pipe under Sabretooth's chin, and attempted to cut off his air supply. All this achieved was an angry roar and slashing claws that didn't harm Scott but ripped his jacket into shreds. Tightening his grip on the pipe, Scott pushed his knee against Sabretooth's muscled back for leverage, and scanned the ceiling for Toad.

Ororo was panicking, blinded with Toad's gummy resin and firing small lightning bolts off in random directions. Somewhere around floor level, Logan spluttered into consciousness like an old car, then roared and pulled Sabretooth down to the floor with him, rolling over and over, a flailing ball of arms and legs. Scott let go of the pipe, then shrugged out of his jacket, leaving the tattered remnants in Sabretooth's fist, and broke free of the brawling pair. Ororo was still firing blind, and raked the warehouse with sleet and hail. She reduced visibility to almost nothing and the hail painfully stung Scott's naked chest and back.

Without warning, Toad leapt down from the roof and fired a sticky ball of phlegm directly at Scott; Scott saw the movement and twisted to avoid it, but stepped onto a film of ice and his feet skidded out from underneath him. He spun and hit the concrete of the warehouse wall face first, and remained there: he was glued to the wall with Toad's revolting green spit.

As the battle raged on behind him, Scott wondered what he could have done to plan for this. The foamy spitball hissed a little as it solidified; it was unpleasantly warm against the bare skin of his chest. Stuck to a army warehouse wall with cooling toad spit: Scott had had better days. Scott gently pushed against the wall to separate himself from the saliva before it set solid. No use: vacuum sucked at his chest, pulling unpleasantly at skin and hair, and – he shuddered to even think it – his nipples.

Stuck firmly, he listened to the fight instead; visualising what he couldn't see. Oddly enough, once Scott was out of the battle, Logan seemed to have pulled himself together. Maybe that was Logan's role in a team, Scott mused. He could hear Logan quickly and efficiently hitting something large, presumably Sabretooth, and he seemed to be getting the upper hand. Maybe Logan was that kind of soldier who picks up the flag when the general goes down, or at least when the general gets glued to the wall. The phlegm was almost completely hardened, crackling at the edges like setting toffee, but unmoveable; it had seeped into the pitted concrete wall, and held Scott fast. He wished that Jean was here instead of presenting a paper at a summit on the X-gene. The team was struggling, with one member absent. And she'd think his sticky predicament was funny, which would make him smile.

A resounding thud and shuddering of the wall he had been examining heralded Sabretooth's fall: craning his head around, Scott saw the large form slide slowly to the floor. He heard Logan talking softly to Ororo, and felt the sleet easing to rain as Ororo's breathing slowed and calmed. He sighed, and awkwardly shifted his weight from foot to foot; being pinned against a wall was less comfortable than he would have anticipated. Held in the resin, his body still mimicked the shape of his impact; slightly arched backwards, shoulder blades pressed together, and it was impossible not to think about his nipples. He shuddered at the thought of what would happen if he lost his footing, and goosebumps rose up on his bare back.

"What, are you going to stand there all day?"

Scott looked down, where Sabretooth was slumped against the wall, Logan was swiftly taping the unconscious man's hands and feet together with duct tape.

"I can't move. I'm stuck to the wall." Scott grimaced at the answering snort of laughter. "Yeah, hilarious. Let's laugh about it later. Where's Storm? She okay?"

With a heave, Logan flipped Sabretooth onto his belly.

"I got her onto the plane. I didn't want to mess with that stuff on her eyes. Toad's out cold, the little pissant. I think she fried him. Again."

Scott rolled his head around to see as much of the warehouse that his position would allow. "Look for some paint thinner, or some kind of solvent to dissolve this stuff."

Logan appeared soundlessly at his side, and began to probe the cemented material. Instinctively Scott tried to pull away from Logan's investigating fingers, but the resin pulled hard against his skin, and he was forced to stand as still as possible while Logan felt all the way around the gummed area. Logan's hands were ticklish but gentle, and Scott felt his cheeks redden. He leaned his face against the cool concrete and prayed: please let this be over soon.

Ororo called from the plane. "Cyclops, Wolverine! Choppers coming. The scanner says ETA five minutes."

Scott winced as Logan tried to insinuate a claw between the wall and Scott's chest, but the adamantium slowed and stuck in the viscous material, and, even with Logan's precision, the drag made cutting too dangerous to rush.

"Just… just look for some paint thinner, dammit!"

Logan retracted the claw with a sibilant click. "There's no time for that. Much as I'd pay to watch the army land a chopper on top of Vic, we oughta get out of here."

Logan pried the fingers of both his hands between Scott's skin and the resin, and with one leg propped on the wall, braced his weight against Scott's body. Scott realised too late what Logan was trying to do.

He had time to say "No! Wait!" before a horrible, long moment of pain flared across his torso and his skin stretched and pulled away from his ribs. The wall peeled back from Scott's vision, and he felt fire searing down his chest.

He hit the floor, automatically rolling to his feet, expecting to see his chest bleeding and nippleless. Instead there was a wide, smooth hairless stripe of skin that glowed sunburn red, even allowing for the ever-present tint from the visor. He crossed his arms protectively over his chest, and hissed at the stinging. Logan heaved him towards the plane. By the time he actually had to focus on flight instruments, his eyes had stopped streaming. It was the first thing that had gone right all day.

 

It was two days before the incident came up for discussion. The school was humming with teenage insurrection, or at least it seemed that way since Jean and the Professor left for the summit. Scott couldn't understand why the students saved it all up for the rare occasions that the Professor was away, because the Professor was generally much more forgiving of such behaviour than Scott. As well as a surfeit of hijinks, Scott had Kitty Pryde to deal with. Enraptured with her part in removing the resin from Ororo's eyes, she had started seriously needling him to give the older students a place on the team proper. Scott was shocked to catch himself working up training protocols that involved Kitty and other students her age. Adults at the school were in short supply, it was true, and the absence of one team member destabilised the team. The shambles of the last mission was evidence enough of that.

After training, Scott was buzzing with the endorphin rush of physical activity and things didn’t seem so grim. The existing team was working more cohesively, and Jean would be back in two days. Scott checked up and down the corridor: nobody around at this time. Kitty's ardour for official team status had yet to extend to rising before six in the morning.

Scott ducked into the laundry and peeled off his sweats, balling them up and stuffing them into an heavily laden washing machine; he could make a dash for his room in his shorts, and it would save him a trip down to the laundry later. He grinned to himself, standing in the laundry wearing nothing but his shorts as he dangerously over-filled a washing machine. He was reverting to bachelor behaviour: these were things he'd never do if Jean was home. He switched the machine on and turned to go back to his room and shower. Logan was standing in the doorway, armful of laundry under one arm, cigar unlit but ready in his hand. He gestured with his cigar towards the large, hairless area on Scott's chest.

"You just gonna leave it like that? Looks like you lost a fight with a lawnmower."

Scott suddenly wished he still had his laundry, so he could clutch it protectively to his chest. "Some people, Logan, can't grow a manly rug of hair overnight. It'll grow back, eventually."

Logan lifted the lid of the machine and shoved his laundry in on top of the rest. "It's going to grow in uneven. You should take the rest of it off."

The overly full machine choked and sputtered; Logan gave it a brutal thump on the side, and it obediently began to fill smoothly. "Or not. I mean, do what you want." He leaned his weight against the machine just as it began to produce an ominous banging, and held the lid closed with his hand. "Got burnt once, all down one side. Hair grew in fast enough, but for a few days, it was lopsided. Caught a lot of attention when I didn't want it, so I shaved it off."

Scott didn't want to be here, talking depilation with Logan. He blushed, and scowled at Logan's answering grin; the bastard was enjoying this too much.

"Look, shaving doesn't work. I mean, it doesn't feel the same. If it's all the same to you, I'm just going to let it grow in." Scott looked down, horrified to find himself caressing the area where he'd tested his razor on the rest of his chest hair.

Logan wedged the cigar between his teeth, and stretched out his hand to stroke the skin, his finger brushing against Scott's as he traced out the line on Scott's chest. Scott blushed, and felt sweat beading on his forehead. He took a deliberately casual step backwards, moving his body out of Logan's reach.

Logan nodded sagely. "Yeah, you're right. That does feel kind of different. Reckon you should get some of that stuff the ladies use on their legs."

 

Scott gnawed on his thumbnail as he laid his purchases out on the edge of the bath. The assistant in the drugstore had been solicitous and polite: "Many men are choosing to wax these days, sir, it's not unusual at all." He cringed inwardly, glad he'd taken the care to drive that little bit further to a store he'd never have to visit again. He'd removed the microwave from the kitchen, untruthfully telling the students that Jubilee had caused an electrical fault, and it was now balanced across the sink. He read the instructions again, laid out the strips of fabric, and heated the wax. He was ready. He could do this.

Five minutes later, Scott stared at his reflection in despair, a strip of wax attached to his skin. His skin was clammy, and sweat was beading up on his upper lip. Several tries to rip the wax from his skin had failed. He took a deep breath, grasped the end of the cloth strip, and pulled it upwards. It didn't budge, and he spun around on his heel in pain, his eyes watering. Before the stinging had a chance to subside, the bathroom door was flung open, and Logan grabbed the strip of calico, and ripped it from his chest.

The two men stared at each other. It was possibly the first time that Scott had ever seen Logan look apologetic, as he awkwardly balled the calico up in his fist.

"Had to do it, Scotty. The sound was making me crazy."

Scott pushed his fingers against his forehead. "No, it's okay. It's not working out anyway."

Logan grinned, but it was a wry expression, not meant to mock. "Never picked you for a quitter, Slim. It's just not a one-man job, that's all."

There was an oddly comfortable sense of camaraderie. Neither of the men spoke, but Logan smoked his cigar in companionable silence as Scott applied the wax and fabric, then he leant forward and swiftly tore each strip away. Time flowed past easily, and the task was soon done. Logan threw his cigar stub into the toilet bowl, and the sizzling noise broke the spell. Scott fiddled with the last strip of fabric uncomfortably, not really knowing how to say thank you. Logan, eyes unreadable, rested his hand on the smooth skin of Scott's chest for a moment, then turned and left.

 

"So, are you going to keep it this way?" Jean rested her chin on Scott's chest, and her breath moving over the sensitive skin made Scott gasp a little.

"Maybe. Do you like it?" He drew his fingers through her hair, let it brush against his chest, felt his breathing become ragged. Jean skimmed the smooth surface with her lips, grazed across one nipple, and slid her legs across to straddle him.

"I like the way it makes you feel," she said as she bent her head to kiss him. Scott encircled her waist with his hands, delighting in the curve of her hips. He wondered what she was seeing inside his mind that made her smile.


End file.
